Will You Be There For Me
by BeyondTheClouds
Summary: England decides to nurture a young, orphaned boy he found in the streets. Little did he expect to be giving up nearly everything and more for the tiny boy who looks so little, but means so much. /England-America family Somewhat-AU/
1. Meeting

**A/N: Second Hetalia fic! :) This one... This is going to be an agnsty fic, just a heads up. It's cute in the beginning, but trust me, it WILL become sad and heart breaking. :*(**

**This is going to confuse some people. But Alfred is not America. Let me explain. This is about 500 years before America became, well, America. Before England even sailed over the Atlantic ocean. Alfred looks and acts exactly like Chibi America, BUT THEY ARE NOT THE SAME PEOPLE. At least not in this fic. It's somewhat-AU for that exact reason. I hope you understand, but if I had Alfred and America be the same person then it would screw up my plot.**

**INSPIRATION: [APH] Alfred and Matthew want a mom by AngelNicholson. A youtube video that nearly had me in tears. it basically fueled this first chapter. It was mainly ACE pics with the song "I want a mom" from Rugrats. :*(**

**DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned Hetalia. T.T**

**...**

**Will You Be There For Me**

**Meeting**

"Ha-ha! Another victory for jolly old England, wouldn't you say?" The man wrinkled with age clasped his bony hands onto England's shoulder, shaking him roughly in a way of congrats.

"I'd agree, France is no match for me," England smirked, "The stupid romancer, if he spent less time on his hair and the ladies, and more time on the training grounds, then maybe he would've stood a chance!"

The other ten or so soldiers laughed loudly at this, all clasping shoulders and making small talk about the enemy country.

"England, the boy's and I are taking you out on a bit of an… outing. You wouldn't mind, would you?" The captain of one of his squads asked.

"I don't see why I can't tag along, friends." England's eyebrows scrunched together. Once more laughter rang out, and England noticed something out of the corner of his eye… Was that…

Was that a child? A boy? He looked to be no older than five, maybe six years of age. He was hunched over something…

England didn't realize he'd stopped and was staring down the long alley until one of the soldiers asked why he'd stopped.

"Oh, it's nothing. I just saw… A strangely large rat." He quickly lied, glancing at the child once more before continuing his walk.

"…-Come on you horse ass, can't you even fight?" England roared, the veins in his neck pulsing and his bare chest glistening with sweat. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, wincing when he brushed against his bruised eye.

"Bloody hell I can! You scum!" England felt a hard punch to his gut, and everything in him and around him seemed to freeze, until the droplets of blood were spit from his mouth.

His legs shook, and for a moment the crowd suspected he would go down, probably regretting choosing him for their bets. He too thought his leg's would give out, but instead they came in contact with the man's vital regions, and his opponent was lying on the ground in front of him.

He didn't stop to collect money from people who'd bet on him, he didn't even stop to think about how low he'd stooped to hit a man in his genitals, he simply grabbed his shirt and walked out of the arena.

He figured his body suffered enough abuse for one day.

Whilst walking back from the club, or bar, or area from which he was dragged to, he stopped dead in his tracks, remembering the boy.

Was it his business to find the boy? He could just leave him to his own affairs but… Something in his gut told him that he needed to find the boy.

It was odd… He'd never felt this strong impulse to help a little one, and he swore if his thoughts weren't racing by so fast his mind would've suggested it was parental instinct.

He couldn't help but snort. Him? With a child? The irony of it was almost to much. He was the United Kingdom! Great Britain! And he certainly wouldn't be known as the ruler of a country where toddler children crawled to and fro, screaming and yelling around his throne.

Yet… The thought didn't stop him from running back up the street, glancing into each alleyway to find if the boy way there. And when he wasn't spotted, he ran back down and further, looking for him.

And just when he thought the boy was gone, he saw the tiny slouched over figure, shaking in the cold December winds.

He hesitated, before taking loud steps to show the boy his presence and so he wouldn't be alarmed at his sudden appearance.

"Are you alright, chap?" He asked softly, kneeling down about three feet from the boy.

The boy froze, and turned to glare with blue hues, his chubby face glaring at him. "Why don't you run off and bother someone else, you big ugly dope." He said.

"Why-" He was cut off by the boy whimpering and standing up to face him. England's anger changed into a softening, sympathetic look. "Are you alright? Your hurt."

"No, really?" He scowled. "If you're here to make fun of me, go ahead and try. It doesn't bother me anymore, I've heard them all. But just you wait, as soon as my mom wakes up, she'll kick your butt into next Tuesday!"

England glanced down at the person covered with a wool blanket. It was a woman, who looked around the age of twenty-five. She wasn't moving, England could tell, and realization slapped him in the face.

"Child, what's your name?" He diverted the subject. The boy's eyes lit up, and he puffed his chest out in a seemingly "manly" way.

"My name is Alfred! Alfred Jones and don't you forget it! Y'see, because when Daddy left, he told me I better say my name proudly and never back down from a fight. This way I'll be able to take care of Mama, and no one'll pick on me." He smiled, showing off his baby teeth.

England cracked a small smile back.

"And where's your father, Alfred?"

"Um…" Alfred's eyes cast downwards. "He's… He's on a secret mission! Yeah, it's real dangerous, and he said he wouldn't be home for a really long while. Mama was really sad about it to, but that didn't stop Daddy from leaving, cause he has his duties you know?"

England sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. A child who's mother had died in the streets, a father who'd left them to fend for themselves, and he had no clue how to survive… He'd probably die throughout the winter.

But he couldn't take care of a child! Women took care of the children until they were old enough to be men! But he couldn't leave young Alfred alone…

When did he become so sentimental?

"Say, Alfred, how would you like to stay with me until your mother wakes up and your father comes home?" England asked.

"Huh? Really mister?" Alfred's eyes lit up noticeably.

"Yes, really."

"What's your name?" Alfred asked.

"Huh?"

"I asked your name. I never got it."

"Oh…" England paused. "Well, how about you call me Britain?" Alfred smiled at this.

"Alright, let's go! Onward to Britain's house!" Alfred began to march, and England began to follow.

"Wait! Aren't you gunna carry my Mama?" Alfred stopped him. England's heart sank. He couldn't tell Alfred the truth, but he couldn't carry a dead body! He lived nearly fifteen miles away!

"It's really rude to leave her sleeping there by herself. She'll wake up soon. Plus, you're the bigger one, but only by a little bit, so you gotta carry her." Alred crossed his chubby arms over his chest.

England sighed, ran more hands through his hair, then spoke. "I suppose your right."

He knelt down beside the "sleeping" woman, and said a silent prayer before picking her up.

Only fifteen or so miles… He'd be fine…

He'd be fine for the walk, but he would have nightmares of the stone cold arms and legs wrapping around his body from behind for a long while…


	2. Sentimental Beginnings

**A/N: So, I've decided this fic is gunna be about... 15 chapters long. Yep. :) And jeez, this is so short but meh, I haven't the will you update anything and it's better than nothing. *shrugs* And yeah... England's kind of an ass in this :*( At least, right now, but don't worry, things'll get better! ...Maybe. Not really. : / JUST KIDDING.**

**Inspiration: Hetalia AMV ~ Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It) by **xinyourmemories**, and [APH] ~.:L'Amore:.~ by **InazumaDawg**. The first one made me giggle, and the latter made me cry. :*( Please check them out! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. **

**Will You Be There For Me**

**Sentimental Beginnings**

"Woah! This is your house?" Alfred exclaimed, staring up at the two-story building with awe, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. England chuckled dryly.

"Yes it is, though it's not much. The king has much better living accommodations," England scoffed, before smiling weakly.

"Why don't you go inside and have a look around. See which guest bedroom it is you want to stay in, alright?"

"Okay!" Alfred exclaimed, running inside the house happily. England let out a shaky breath, and waited for Alfred's stomping feet to fade.

"Wow! This house is huge!" He heard coming from somewhere in the back. Alfred sure did have a strong voice, a trait he found himself admiring.

He then carefully set the late woman's body on the ground, and suddenly he felt wretchedly and painfully ill. He leaned over the bushes, and vomited.

It disturbed him to no end, and he shivered at the thought of what he'd just done. For nearly fifteen miles, he'd carried a dead woman through the cold, snowy, December, English streets.

And all for a young boy he'd met not an hour before.

He turned and instantly regretted it when he saw the woman's eyes had opened, and he turned and vomited whatever was left in his stomach.

The taste of alcohol and blood burned through his nose and mouth, and when he brought up a hand to wipe the residue away he was met with the sight of a bloody hand.

What he didn't know, however, was if the blood was from his fight at the bar, or from his vomiting.

"Hey, mister, are you okay?" Alfred asked, pulling a fistful of England's bloody shirt into his palms. "Let's go inside so I can put some things on your wounds."

England nodded, to light-headed to think otherwise. He stood on quavering legs, and stepped towards the door.

Alfred's mouth hung open, and he was about to say something, but decided against it. Quickly placing a kiss on his mother's "sleeping" cheek, he followed the Englishman inside.

"So, do you have any bandages or medical supplies, mister? I don't know a lot about healing people, but Mama taught me the basics in case I ever got in a fight and she wasn't there to help me afterwards. Say mister, did you get in a fight?" Alfred rambled on.

"Yes, I did, if you must know." The room was spinning.

"Wow, you must've gotten your arse kicked. You're all bloody." His head felt heavy, he was very, very irritated.

"I wonder how a small guy like you actually was able to believe you could take someone on."

The sanity in his mind snapped. He was partially drunk, very much irritated, and un-used to such childish impulses.

"Well, if you don't like it, maybe you should leave you brat! I can hold my own in a fight thank you very much, and if you don't like that then why don't you go back on the streets like the filth you are?"

Alfred's eyes were wide, and though England saw the tears brimming, he didn't stop.

"Oh, and take your mother with you. I don't want my house to smell like rotting flesh."

"What…?" Alfred whimpered softly, clutching his hands to his chest.

"She's dead you brat. She isn't sleeping, she isn't going to wake up. She's _dead_."

Alfred whimpered once more, and whispered something England couldn't catch. But he did notice when Alfred's face grew angry, and he began shouting.

"Y-You're a monster! How dare you! Your calling me a brat? Look at yourself! Some fancy pants Britain thinks he can go around and bully other people just because he's better off than them- well guess what? We don't need you! My Mama'll wake up, you'll see! Well, actually, you won't because we'll be gone. You'll get what you want."

The tears were freely flowing now, and England's mind cleared to late to realize what he'd done.

"Alfred, I-"

"Don't even bother," Alfred ran to the door, and he hesitated on the handle. "And to think I thought you were different from the others. I guess your all the same."

And with that, Alfred was gone.

England sighed, and collapsed on his couch. Alfred would be back, he had to come back.

…Right?

Hours later England awoke to the sound of a harsh knock on the door. He stood, stretching his stiff muscles and answering it.

"Alfred, it's about time you-"

"Sir! We just wanted to bring you some firewood. There's an upcoming storm, and we wanted you to be prepared."

England's face fell at the sight of a few British soldiers, and he graciously accepted the firewood before closing the door.

He set it down near the back of his kitchen, and peered outside the window.

"Alfred…" He whispered, as if the words alone would bring him home. But they wouldn't. No, he had to find him.

All this trouble for a young blond orphan, yet England couldn't see himself doing it for anyone else.


	3. And So It Began

**A/N: I KNOW! It's been like, two months since the last update! I am SO SORRY! DX But, hopefully this some-what long chapter will be enough to satisfy those still reading! :D**

**Inspiration: The Declicious Tomato Song Italy Duet by canadaisnotamerica! ;D**

**Will You Be There For Me**

**And So It Began**

Cold. So, so cold. It was so unimaginably cold that it took all of England's will power not to turn around and go home to a warm fireplace and a nice cup of hot tea. But he couldn't do that. No, he made a commitment, granted it was sudden and only started a few hours before, but it was a commitment none the less.

And he never went back on his word.

So he trudged on, through darkening streets, his leg burning in pain from a gash he received in his battle with France. And though no one was watching, he refused to show a limp.

"Alfred!" He shouted out. "Alfred!"

He leaned against a lamppost, breathing heavily.

"Alfred…"

"_Hnn… Stupid Scotland… Stupid people… Stupid everyone… They don't understand, they're all stupid. Just because I'm small doesn't mean I can't fight back. Who cares about them, I don't."_

_Who… That's… Me…_

_The cloaked figure approached, taking his hood down to reveal messy blonde hair, and all to familiar eyebrows._

"_Isn't that right? We don't need anyone. We'll be the strongest country in the world." He smiled._

_England smiled back, wondering when it was he'd wake up from this dream._

_Then, as soon as he appeared, the smaller version of himself broke out into a run. _

"_Huh? Where are you going? Wait!" England chased after him._

_Then he stopped._

"_You're quite the awkward child, aren't you?" England breathed out. The boy whimpered, hugging himself tightly._

"_Huh? What's wrong?" England was about to approach, but all to familiar red-hair caught his eye._

"_S-Scotland…" His tinier self whimpered, reaching out to the redhead with shaken arms, only to be knocked away._

"_Did France beat you up again?"_

_Smaller England nodded. "H-He teamed up with Spain and-"_

"_Bullshit. You should've stood up against them."_

"_I-I know but-"_

"_No but's! Don't act stupid!"_

_Realization hit England in the face. This wasn't a dream, nor was it a nightmare. It was a memory. A memory of what happened so many centuries ago._

_He didn't want to watch this. No, he couldn't watch this. He had to wake up, why wasn't he waking up?_

"_Scotland!" He shouted. He was bigger, stronger now. He could change this. "Stop it!"_

"_Leave him alone!" A voice shouted, stepping in front of the smaller England. _

"_Alfred?" He whispered…_

"_Oh goody, Britain's here." Scotland smirked. Another version of himself appeared, dressed in his black magic coat._

"_Alfred… Why have you run off? You know what happens to disobedient little boys…" His darker self answered in a wicked voice. The older men closed in on the boys, screams filled his ears, and suddenly, everything went black…_

He jolted awake, local boys meeting his eyes.

"He's awake! Let's scram, fella's!" The ran off in opposite directions, and he had a faint feeling he wouldn't have any money left in his wallet. He contemplated how much money he had left in the wallet, but shook his head.

It was dark, dreary, and it appeared to be either late in the night or early in the morning. He was hung-over, wounded, and had probably developed a case of hypothermia.

"Ugh…" England groaned in pain, and used the lamppost to steady himself as he stood up. "What am I doing here…?"

All to suddenly, he remembered Alfred storming out of his house, and all the events before it. The emotional weight of what had happened, what he had done, and what he had failed to do was enough to send him toppling over again. He groaned, and looked to his surroundings.

No one was around, and though he knew it was stupid, he decided to sleep then and there, against the dirty lamppost that dogs pissed on without a second thought. The thought almost made him chuckle.

"Oh, Scottie, if you could see me now…" He murmured.

It was completely and utterly unreasonable to lay there, but he was to tired. He'd find Alfred later, but right now, he was just tired.

And so he would sleep.

…

"…Absolutely unforgivable!"

"… A man representing our glorious nation shouldn't be doing such peasant-like things!"

"…I don't understand… really let himself go…"

Voices came from above him, and for a moment, he thought he was surrounded by angels. But as England opened bright green eyes, he saw it was the furthest thing from it. But he could at least grace them with a greeting.

"Hello, fellow Englishman. What is it…? Why is it we are all… here?" He looked around, and each pair of eyes his met were narrowed in a glare.

"You dare call yourself England? Why, that's so bloody ironic, I could spit in your face!" An officer said.

England's lips were formed into a tight line, and he suppressed his anger by sitting up, holding back a groan from the sudden rush of blood.

"Do you want to know what happened this morning?" A different, more flashy officer snorted, his stance radiating his authority. He faintly recognized him as someone who always hung around the queen… "Scotland came here today with soldiers, hundreds of 'em. He said he wanted to talk to you, burst down the bloody front door to your house, he did. When we couldn't find you, British soldiers ran amuck trying to find your whereabouts. And guess where you were? Bleedin' and passed out under a bloody lamppost!"

"… What did Scotland want?" England asked, now standing and trying to brush himself off and look more presentable. It was a futile effort.

"Who cares what he wanted? The enemy just broke down the doors to our home, witnessed what should be known as the most atrocious excuse of an Englishman, and all you care about was what he bloody wanted?"

England has nothing to say to this.

"From what I've heard around, Scotland used'ta pick on you as a lad. I wonder why." He spat on England's shoe, and said Briton resisted the urge to punch him. "He's still here, still wants to talk to you. Haven't the faintest idea why though. Fall out, men."

And as quickly as it started, the conversation was over, and but one soldier remained. He was young, and trembling as he stared at the now angered Britain.

"S-Sir?"

"What!" England snapped.

"I-I just wanted to say… As a child, I had four older brothers who used to tease me because I was so small, and it didn't help much that my sister used to dress me up. S-So I wanted to tell you I know what it's like…" The soldier gulped. "B-But…"

"But what? Spit it out!"

"But I'm not a child anymore, and neither are you, sir. You can't use the excuse that you're small and defenseless against him. You must stand your own ground against him sir. You aren't a child. You are the great British Empire. And if you really want the tension to stop, then you must show Scotland you are willing to fight for what you wish."

"…" England said nothing, for he had no comment.

"I-I'm sorry sir. That was out of line. I-I'll take my leave now." The young man hastily made his retreat. England chuckled darkly.

"…I suppose he's right."

He broke out in a fit of chuckles, and made his way to Scotland's usual meeting place in an oddly enthusiastic manner.

…

It was nearing one in the afternoon, when England finally made the long walk to where he and Scotland had traveled to so many times before. It brought back memories he didn't wish to remember, but never failed to forget.

So many nights had he spent working himself to the bone trying to earn his brother's approval, only to be met with sneers and insults. Until one day he woke up, and just… gave up.

Now, he and his brother's begrudgingly used it as a meeting place to discuss only the most private of matters, things only another country could understand.

It was a small, wooden cabin that had but one large room equipped with four chairs and a small table, along with a spot to place firewood to make tea.

He entered it slowly, cautiously, as if preparing himself to be attacked at any given moment. He was greeted by the smell of smoke, and visibly winced.

"Scotland?" Shuffling could be heard from the inside, before a chuckle.

"Come on in, England. I think I have somethin' you may want to get an eyeful of up close."

So England poked his head in, and was met with not the familiar red hair and green eyes, but a small frame of a boy, blonde hair, blue eyes.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Alfred."

At the mention of his name, Alfred looked up from his spot on the floor, eyes as wide of that of a deer when surrounded by a pack of wolves.

"Britain." He said. He didn't sound sad, he didn't sound scared. He said it so simply England wondered if he knew of the drastic situation there were in.

"Aye, I knew you two'd be familiar with each other. Heh." Scotland smirked and put out his cigar on the table his feet were propped up on. He quickly lit another and began chewing on it again.

There were so many thing England wanted to ask in that moment; how did he find Alfred? What was he doing in England? Why wasn't Alfred saying anything? Where was his mother? Didn't Scotland know it was unhealthy to be smoking around a young boy?

"You're probably wondering a lot about what exactly is going on, so let me explain."

Huh. Either Scotland knew him to well, or he had the ability to read minds.

"Twas a normal day when I was scouting out my borders for any of you British pigs when I saw a boy, crying and dragging along something on an old make-shift blanket made from a sack. Thinkin' you'd stooped as low as to use a child to steal important matters from me with a child, I surrounded him. Me and five other men.

But, it turns out he was hauling a body, some young woman. One of my men took to carrying her while I hauled this young one to the closest town in your country, Carlisle if I remember right. It also happened to be where you were located, though I don't have the faintest idea why. I heard you got in another brawl with France, and wouldn't you want to stay somewhere closer to the English Channel to watch out for any French ships? Stupid as always. Though I guess it can't be helped." Scotland took a pause to snicker at his own joke, and to take a draw from his cigar. He held it, before letting it out in puffs.

"Anyways, soldiers went looking for you at your house, but you weren't home so they checked around your usual spots. None of which you were located. So suddenly, there's a massive outbreak of your soldiers, and suddenly I'm surrounded by a bunch of 'em. They thought I had something to do with it!

And guess where we found you, stupid Britain. Passed out underneath a lamppost in bloody, tattered clothing! I wish I brought one of my painters so I could capture the moment, it was pretty funny.

So, some officers hauled you away and I figured once they broke news of me showing up, you'd know where to find me. So I walked on over here, and let me tell you, this kid has more spunk than you ever did!

Biting and scratching and screaming, he did. He even managed to hit and kick me a few times, not that it hurt, but if it were you, you'd probably've started to cry like you always do." Scotland began to laugh while England gritted his teeth, and right before either could say anything further, Aflred spoke up.

"Why do you hate Britain so much, Scotland?"

Green eyes locked on Alfred, but he was unmoved by the overwhelming stares he was given. He waited patiently for an answer.

"I don't hate England, young 'un."

England refrained from audibly gasping, and sat, wide-eyed at the red head. He almost felt hopeful, though he didn't know what he was hoping for. But that hope was crushed, and replaced with uncontrollable anger.

"You don't hate me? Don't hate me, my ass! You fucking tortured me as a child! Not a day went by when I didn't have bruises, or cuts, or injuries of some form or another! You called me worthless, trash, you… _you never loved me_!" England couldn't believe he snapped like that. He couldn't believe he'd finally, after all these years, said what was on his mind.

Scotland was up in an instant, his frame towering above the small, old table, and England himself. Suddenly, snapping didn't feel like such a good thing to do.

"You shut your fucking mouth! You have no idea how much I did for you! You have no right to act like your some fancy, high class angel!" Scotland's anger nearly shattered his confidence, but out of the corner of his eye…

Alfred was tearing up, and staring at the red head with such intense fear, England felt that if he didn't stand up to his older brother, then things wouldn't ever change between not only them, and now Alfred. Alfred needed him right now, he needed England to prove he was capable of protecting _something. _

"How much you did for me? Oh yes, praise Lord Scotland for ruining my childhood and scarring me for the rest of my bloody life! Scotland shouldn't be yelled at, after all, what kind of a man _wouldn't _want to insensitively abuse his younger brother!" England shouted.

"You think I wanted to beat you? You think I wanted to say how worthless you are? Your fucking ungrateful, that's what you are you selfish, British, bloody bastard! Have you ever stopped to consider how other countries, and even your own bosses would've treated you, hadn't I made you appear so weak and frail?"

England tried to think of something to say, but ended up pressing his lips in a tight line.

"What I did was nothing compared to what they would've done! You wouldn't even have had a childhood to be traumatized if not for me! They would've _killed you._"

"You were the one trying to-"

"Don't give me that! That's bullshit and you know it! You were a strong, fast growing nation. But you were still in your youth, and do you know how easily it would've been for another country to've invaded you?"

"I could take care of myself! And if you really wanted to help, then why did you beat me?"

"That isn't the point! And I did it because… Because…"

"Can't even grace me with an answer, can you?"

"I did it because God forbid I come home one day to see you bloody and lifeless on the floor because some other nation killed you for how strong you were destined to become!"

England said nothing, and Scotland stared him down.

"God forbid any other nation got their hands on you with the intentions to hurt. God forbid they saw how healthy you were and decided to do something about it. _God forbid if my own little brother hates me because I tried to protect him! _God fucking forbid it all!"

"… Scotland…"

"I have a little brother."

All eyes turned to Alfred. England questioning, and Scotland glaring.

"His name is Matthew. Not many people like him very much, but I don't know why. I haven't seen him in a long while though, and I really miss him a lot. Sometimes I would get mad when my mom paid him better attention me. So I would hit him because of it. I didn't know what else to do."

"… Alfred."

"But that's not the point. I miss my brother very much, even though we didn't always get along sometimes. I don't care what he does, or how much he cries, he'll still be my little brother. And now that he's gone, I still miss him. And you would miss each other to, every single day, if one of you disappeared."

Scotland snorted, but he was obviously touched in the least by what Alfred was saying.

"And I think though you guys are violent towards each other, that's just your own special way of saying 'I love you'. And that's okay." Alfred smiled. "Mama's dead now. I know that. And I'll try not to cry, but, Mister Britain, Mister Scotland?"

"… What is it, lad?" England bent down near Alfred.

"Can you please dig a grave for my Mama?"

"Why, of course." England smiled as Alfred's face lit up, and he ran out the front door. England was about to follow him, when Scotland's hand was placed on his shoulder. England quirked a brow, curious.

"Take care of the boy. Do better than I did."

After a moment, England replied with, "Alright."

And for the first time in all the hundreds of years the two nations had been alive, Great Britain and the Kingdom of Scotland shared a smile.

**...**

**Is it weird that I listened to Spongebob's The Campfire song song while typing Scotland and England's little fight? XD**


	4. God Save The Queen

**A/N: Sorry for the shortness! But... BLEH. And Sorry for the "God Save The Queen" thing if you somehow feel offended. I don't know why I feel the need to apologize butttt... **

**Also, I really don't like to ask for reviews whatsoever, but I have 16 alerts, and 11 favorites, but only like 4 reviews. I really want to know what you guys think, it should really help me, as I am trying to make this story a success! :)**

**So maybe think about leaving a review, even if your an annon? :D I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER! Okay, on with the story!**

**Will You Be There For Me**

**God Save The Queen**

The funeral between the three of them did not go over well with young Alfred. Scotland had taken to carrying her while England held the shovels. Alfred miserably dragged his feet from behind.

Once Alfred found a spot he deemed suitable to bury his diseases mother, Scotland set her down and the two nations began digging her grave, Alfred sat by the young woman, gently stroking her face through the fabric England had covered her with. He didn't even seemed to be bothered by how rotted she was beginning to smell.

Once the hole was dug, England made the sign of the cross before he picked up the body. This was when the reality crashed down on him.

"D-Don't take her! You can't do this! Stop it!" Alfred screamed, furiously thrashing at England's legs, causing him to fall over.

"Ouch- bloody hell, Alfred! Stop it!" England restrained himself from hitting Alfred back. _He aint as civilized as he thinks_, Scotland smirked.

"England, restrain the boy if you can, which I doubt. I'll take care of things over here." Scotland mused, picking up the body and setting to put her in the ground.

"I said stop it! Stop it right now! Stop, stop, stop! Mama! Mama get up! Matthew! Matthew help! Their taking her away, they can't do that!" Alfred screamed as loud as he could, thrashed as hard as he could, sobbed as hard as he could. England had a hard time wondering how Scotland could've carried the boy back to the cabin.

"Calm down, lad! It's what she would've wanted!" At England's choice of words, Alfred slumped down, and leaned fully against his caretaker for support. He shook violently, and often whimpered. Scotland began to fill up the grave with dirt.

"It would be much appreciated if you two'd say the Hail Mary while I did this stupid task."

Alfred started immediately, and England followed soon after. Scotland joined in once they recited it the third time around, and the three were left in the middle of the forest with their heads held down in silent prayers.

"I never liked buryin' the dead. It always gave me chills." Scotland shivered, before snickering and roughly pushing England into nearby hanging branches.

"What- why are you still picking on me?" England demanded in what he hopes was a strong voice and not the fearful one he had heard.

"Picking on you? Nah, I'm just horsin' around. You as a country are quite the strong 'un, but you as a person… I have to toughen you up somehow, don't I?" Scotland laughed at some joke he assumed he'd made.

"Well, you could help me some other way! I thought… Never mind." England huffed, his cheeks tinted a light pink as he grabbed Alfred's hand and roughly stomped off.

Scotland swung his arm about England's neck in a seemingly playful manner, but the force applied was anything but friendly.

"What? Y'thought now that we had some sorta revelation that I was going to suddenly turn into a super brother that always has your best intentions in me mind? I don't think so!" Scotland laughed. "But, old habits die hard I suppose, and you kind of ask for me to pick on ye what with how you look and such."

England snorted to hide his embarrassment and disappointment. "What's wrong with the way I look?"

Scotland didn't comment, but instead gave him one hard shrug before turning and walking in the opposite direction.

"Where're you going?" England hollored.

"Back to Scotland! I wasn't going to stay here forever! I have a meeting with Wales and Northern Ireland to attend, and who knows, maybe when you become a big boy you can join us." Scotland laughed, giving England one last look before walking off. "And be sure to release my men so I can kick your ass fair and square next time!"

England couldn't help but give a small smile despite his rage.

Alfred remained quiet throughout the whole walk back to Carlisle. And when they finally did arrive, they were met with the face of the annoying general England had encountered when he first awoken from his drunken stupor.

"England! I see your finally back, and with a…" He trailed off as if in search of a word for Alfred. He sneered, and raised his nose. Out of the corner of his England saw Alfred glare, but was it just his imagination that the hand clutching his own had tightened?

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know that word has reached London. Her majesty wants to see you." And with that, the officer walked away.

England sighed, and suddenly felt very, very tired. It seemed to get that way when the weight of the world came crashing down on him.

"Why does the Queen want to see you?" Alfred asked loudly, tugging on England's arm.

"No particular reason you need to worry about yet. Are you alright?" England asked, for Alfred had broken out into a fit of coughs.

"What- Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Don't ever ask again." The sudden seriousness in Alfred's tone hushed England for the moment, but he made a mental note to ask about it later. Maybe Alfred was sick? He prayed to God that it wasn't another plague.

"Let's go then, we'll start out for London at the crack of dawn. It'll take a few days to get there, I hope." England sighed, and let Alfred lead the way.

"God save the Queen, huh?" England chuckled lightly. "God save _me."_


End file.
